


The Only Clean Shirt in the Swamp

by shatteredwriters



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Flirting, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26734774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredwriters/pseuds/shatteredwriters
Summary: By some cruel twist of fate, there happens to be one, just one clean shirt in the entire Swamp. B.J. is adamant that it's his. Hawkeye naturally disagrees.Flirtatious chaos ensues...
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	The Only Clean Shirt in the Swamp

**Author's Note:**

> A short drabble filled to the brim with flirty goodness. Enjoy!
> 
> Tumblr prompt: “Can we not do this today?”
> 
> Warning: some language!

“Aw, come on Hawk. That’s mine and you know it!”

Hawkeye snatched the article of clothing in question back from B.J.’s outstretched fingers, mock outrage glinting in his cerulean eyes.

“How dare you! My good sir, this is most definitely, without a doubt, indisputably _my_ shirt.”

B.J. jumped for the olive drab garb in Hawkeye’s hands, but narrowly missed the fabric.

The older surgeon yelped in amused surprise as he, less than athletically, began to climb over every piece of furniture in the Swamp to put as much space between him and his rival as possible. For a full two minutes they proceeded to go round and round, Hawkeye holding the shirt out in front of him and B.J. chasing his heels.

Suddenly, B.J. stumbled over a trunk and crashed, unceremoniously, to the floor. A stroke of luck at last. Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Hawkeye delightedly seized the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat towards his own bunk.

B.J. had half a mind to let Hawkeye have the shirt…that was until Hawkeye teasingly stuck out his tongue.

_Oh no. He didn’t just do that…now, it’s war._

With an exasperated huff, B.J. got back to his feet.

“Seriously? This is what you’re doing?”

By way of an answer, Hawkeye stuck out his tongue again. The surgeon had strategically positioned himself in what he deemed a fantastic defensive stance: seated on the edge of his cot, one leg raised and outstretched in front of him as a means of protection, army-issued top gripped tightly in his white-knuckled clutches.

_He is so goddamn childish, I swear…_

Pushing up the sleeves of his pink shirt, irritation mounting, B.J. crossed the Swamp until he was standing as near as he could get to Hawkeye’s bed. His friend’s extended dirt-caked boot halted any further progress, however. B.J. shuffled left, then right, and then left again. In response, Hawkeye vexingly followed the Californian’s every move with his foot, enjoying their little tête-à-tête.

Much to B.J.’s chagrin, the surgeon also reached his arm behind him just a little more, placing the shirt even further out of reach. His expression seemed to taunt up at him: _Your move._ Resignedly positioning his hands on his hips, B.J. attempted to look imposing as he threw down a biting glare.

“Now really, Hawk, this is getting out of hand. I don’t know _how_ many times I have to explain this to you!”

“Well, explaining isn’t doing you much good, Mr. I-forgot-to-send-our-laundry-out-so-now-we-are-left-with-one-clean-shirt-between-the-two-of-us. Besides, I graciously gave you the last clean pair of socks! You _should_ be thanking me.”

“Oh, _really_?”

The Californian, who was about to continue the argument, abruptly lost his train of thought when Hawkeye did the unexpected. A mischievous glint in his eyes, the dark-haired surgeon dramatically pushed the contested shirt down the front of his pants.

_Incorrigible. Absolutely incorrigible._

B.J. scoffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Can we _not_ do this today? And, for that matter, what makes you think that’s a safe spot to keep the shirt? Think shoving it down your pants is _really_ going to stop me?”

Hawkeye, who had been grinning goofily up at the surgeon with an air of triumph, faltered. The self-assured smile dropped from his face for a fraction of a second before he raised his eyebrows mockingly, calling B.J. on his bluff. His swirling blue eyes conveyed his challenge, pressing to determine the lengths B.J. would go to to get the shirt back. The idea that B.J. would put his money where his mouth was didn’t even cross Hawkeye’s mind. No chance, not even the faintest possibility. It just wasn’t going to happen.

Hawkeye could practically taste his victory…until B.J. quirked up one corner of his mouth suggestively. Instead of the resigned acceptance Hawkeye had anticipated, there was wanton mischief dancing in the depths of those eyes.

His grin fell for a second time. This time, utter surprise kept it from resurfacing.

B.J. was extremely pleased to note Hawkeye’s shocked response, and decided, in the spur of the moment, he was going to take his teasing just one step further.

_You may have started it, Hawk. But I’m going to finish it._

Methodically, painstakingly, he removed Hawkeye’s boot from where it had been pressing against his hip before pushing the entire leg off to the side. It thumped loudly to the Swamp floor, the sound echoing in the small space. Hawkeye was watching his every move with a mixture of apprehension and fascination. B.J. wasn’t going to disappoint.

He closed the remaining distance between the two, deliberately stopping to stand between Hawkeye’s knees and leaning down until he was eye to eye with his roommate, a playful smirk on his face. Hawkeye could hardly breathe as he instinctively broke eye contact, color rising in his cheeks. He tried to ignore how _close_ B.J. was, forcing himself to lean a little further away and put a smidge of extra space between them. Because then he wouldn’t have to focus on B.J.’s strong hands pressing on the cot next to him, the warmth of his breath, the inviting curve of his lower lip…

Swallowing thickly, Hawkeye glanced back up, uncertain blue eyes burning into B.J.’s own. A charged tension hung in the air between them. Neither one dared breathe. They could have heard a pin drop in the silence that had descended on the Swamp.

And then B.J. coyly reached for the shirt.

He never once broke eye contact as he ever so slowly brought his hand to a stop an inch away from the top sticking halfway out of Hawkeye’s army-issued pants.

“You know?” B.J. whispered huskily, biting his lip in thought. “Come to think of it, you’ve got a date tonight right? Why don’t _you_ take the shirt, Hawk, and you’ll owe me a beer at the officer’s club later. Sound good?”

B.J. threw Hawkeye his cheekiest grin. Not waiting for a reply, the Californian patted his friend's arm and stood back up. _Check and mate._ He began to hum an annoyingly upbeat tune under his breath while he made his way towards his own cot. Plopping down, B.J. pretended to be as cool as a cucumber, projecting an air of relaxed nonchalance. It didn’t matter that he was internally thrilled by the dangerous flirting he’d just completed or how he felt drunk from being so damn close to Hawkeye.

He did feel a little bad about the teasing.

But only a little.

Hawkeye still wore the same dumbfounded expression, eyes blown wide and mouth hanging open. Shocked into silence. Suggestion swirling in the air around him and flushing his cheeks red.

_That was…_

The dark-haired surgeon struggled to form any semblance of a coherent thought.

Shakily, Hawkeye let out the breath he’d been holding as he deftly removed the shirt from its place of supposed protection. Hooded eyes skittered between the olive drab top in his hand and B.J.’s relaxed form. Teasing was as natural to the two of them as breathing, but normally B.J. wasn’t so brazenly _obvious_ about it.

All of a sudden, it was much too hot in the tent for Hawkeye’s liking.

Getting abruptly to his feet and tossing the shirt onto his cot like it had burned him, he beat a hasty retreat from the Swamp. Didn't trust his voice enough to offer B.J. an offhanded remark or plausible excuse.

Very nearly slamming the door closed behind him, Hawkeye’s mind raced as quickly as his incredibly elevated heartrate.

_Jesus, Beej. That was bold…bold even for me. In the middle of the Swamp, in the middle of the day no less! Broad daylight, sun shining, a thousand people right outside, any one of whom could have waltzed in and seen us… _

One hand raked anxiously through his hair as he tried to get a handle on what had just _happened_. Images, in brilliant hues and vibrant colors, flashed mercilessly before his eyes: B.J.’s sly smile, the way he had been standing between his legs, the spark of desire burning in his dark expression, strong arms leaning on the cot beside him, his hand stopping just short of his waist…

Hawkeye had to remind himself to breathe.

_Well, fuck me._

Their flirtations were becoming more and more public, increasingly toeing the line of what was passable within the realm of “friends”. Hawkeye got a thrill from that sort of danger. He loved taking those sorts of risks that usually had B.J. shooting daggers from across the table in the mess tent or whispering heatedly in embarrassment how "we're not alone so would you please just knock it off for a few seconds?".

It was one thing to give, and quite another to take.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Hawkeye kicked pensively at a rock in the dirt path in front of him. Just as surely as the sun rose that morning, he was going to get back at B.J. It would have to be the most ostentatious flirtation yet, something that would make what B.J. had done seem like a trifling matter. His roommate had upped the stakes today, all but rudely ensuring Hawkeye’s mind was nowhere close to being focused on his date that night. Not that he was all that interested anyways, he'd forgotten about it until B.J. had brought it up.

_B.J., B.J., B.J. My friend, you have no idea what you just started._

The tall drink of water with a mustache may have won the battle, but he sure as hell hadn’t won the war. _Not yet,_ Hawkeye mused, an evil plan taking root in his mind. His roommate was so not ready for the provocative, tantalizing, down right _filthy_ teasing that was about to commence.

Because revenge was a dish best served cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the read! As always, comments/kudos are appreciated!


End file.
